


Winston's Story

by K_Hanna_Korossy



Series: Stories [3]
Category: The Real Ghostbusters
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-22
Updated: 2016-01-22
Packaged: 2018-05-15 13:21:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5786674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/K_Hanna_Korossy/pseuds/K_Hanna_Korossy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The worst damage after a car accident is to Winston and Ray's relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Winston's Story

 

First published in  _Our Favorite Things 22_ (2006)

 

There are times I really love being a Ghostbuster.

Probably not the times most people would think of. Not the Peter moments of hero worship and interviews on TV, or the “scarier the better” part of the job that gets Ray excited, or the thrill of discovery and scientific progress that turns Egon on. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t hate those times, and I love bagging a stubborn gooper and coming home alive as much as any of the others. But my favorite times are times like this, just relaxing with my friends, being part of a family that I’ve come to love almost as much as my blood one. Deep down, I think that’s the guys’ favorite part, too.

“Wasn’t the General Lee great?”

That was Ray, enthusiastic all the way home about the car show we’d just attended. Which wasn’t a surprise at all; the guy got excited about opening a new bottle of mustard. But it still made me smile. “Yeah, Ray, it was pretty cool. Looked like the owner had taken good care of it.” I’d been checking out the shiny clean motor while Ray had climbed in and pretended to do donuts.

“And the Torino—I read they used three of them on _Starsky & Hutch_. You think that was one of them?”

I turned my blinker on and slowed down for a turn. “It probably would have said in the write-up,” I said fondly. “But she was a beauty.” See what I mean about enthusiasm? When they were handing it out, Ray got a few extra helpings.

“I think Ecto deserved first place, though, don’t you?”

I shrugged. “I’m happy with second. Don’t forget, Ecto’s a working car—we can’t keep her spit-and-polished and display-ready all the time. I think she did pretty good for that.” I gave the dash a loving pat.

“That’s true.” Ray went quiet for three seconds—I counted. Then, voice already rising in pitch again, “Hey, did you see the Aston Martin?”

“Yeah,” I said grinning. “James Bond had it good.” I love the car shows, too, and getting to parade the hours I’d put into Ecto. That was one of the unexpected bonuses of the job, and had become my favorite hobby…well, that and my mysteries. Hadn’t even known I was a car guy before I’d become a ’buster. But the combination of a stretch of relatively free road, my devotedly tended Ecto purring under me, and the company of one of my white brothers: it just didn’t get a lot better than that.

Something flashed in front of the car, a blur of red.

I frowned, easing up on the gas while I tried to get a better look. That might be what saved my life.

Ecto’s purr suddenly turned into a screech, and the wheel went wild under my hands.

I tried to clamp down on it and put on the brakes, but Ecto’s a big hunk of steel with a lot of momentum and doesn’t exactly stop on a dime. The car was out of control, and I had about two seconds before something horrible was going to happen.

“Ray, watch out!”

Metal shrieked, Ecto lurched hard, and then the scenery around us started to tumble.

It happened too fast to sort out, but I did feel my arm hit the driver’s side door, hard and painfully enough to have snapped bone. At some point, my knee hit the dash, too, and even with the seatbelt, my chest and the steering wheel connected.

It all stopped mattering when the frame of the door met my head.

I don’t think I was out more than a few seconds. But I woke to the smell of gas, a wave of burning pain, and a panic that threatened to send me flying out of the car.

Trouble was, I couldn’t. Even as I struggled blindly against the terrifying claustrophobia, the part of me that had survived a war analyzed my situation: the space between the steering wheel and my seat had shrunk, pinning me in the now-tight gap. The seatbelt was digging into my shoulder, and the window next to me had collapsed into half its size. I was also upside-down. And having a major panic attack, especially when the gas smell grew so strong that I could taste it even with the blood in my mouth.

I thrashed even harder. My seatbelt was tightening, taking my breath away, and wherever I was bleeding from flowed harder, but I didn’t care. I had to get out of there. I wasn’t going to die this way, trapped and helpless and burned to death.

“HELP!” I was screaming even as I fought to free myself. “HELP ME!”

“Winston.” The voice, almost too quiet for me to hear, was on my right, a direction I couldn’t turn my head. A cough followed it. “Winston, I’m coming.”

Ray. Oh, God, I’d forgotten Ray.

“Ray? You there? You okay, man?” It’s amazing how worrying about somebody else can cut right through the fear for yourself. I was still panicked, but it was for him now. “Ray?”

He sounded tired and in pain, but his voice was getting stronger. “I’m okay, Winston, I just hurt my shoulder a little. I think I can get out—can you get free?”

“No, I’m trapped. You better hurry—I smell gas.”

“Okay, just…” There was a grunt, and a lot of sharp breathing. Metal creaked. I wished so bad I could see what was going on, but it didn’t exactly seem like my day for answered wishes. The slide of fabric was promising, and then Ray’s voice sounded more distant and—I would’ve shaken my head if I could have—rising again with excitement. “I’m almost out!”

“Good, Ray,” I said tiredly. My head ached and every word was an effort, especially once I got past the initial fueling terror. “I’m gonna need some help here.”

“I’m coming.” Another grunt and some scrambling sounds. I knew he was out when the car rocked gently in his wake, sending a jolt through my body that made me groan. “Hang on, Winston!” His voice was even farther now, outside, in front of me somewhere. My eyes couldn’t focus that far, so I kept staring out my window, silently praying. There was a trickle of wetness along my scalp, and it didn’t feel like blood.

And then he appeared, blurry and disheveled outside my window, holding his arm to him, blood on his face. But on his feet, alive, whole, and safe. I closed my eyes a moment in relief. “Thank God. Ray, I need help gettin’ out—I’m trapped.”

No answer. No movement. I opened my eyes with a frown, to see Ray in the same position as when I’d closed them, standing there and staring at me. Just standing there.

“Ray, c’mon, man, I’m running out of time here.” I wriggled again, uselessly. It just made my arm throw a fit that had me biting back a scream.

And Ray, who had to be close enough to see it all, still didn’t move.

I got mad. “Ray, don’t just stand there—get moving, now! I need help.”

Other motion out of the corner of my eye caught my attention. For a black moment, I was scared it was flames, but soon I could make out people, several of them, strangers coming to my rescue.

A moment later, a guy in a tie was trying to force my door open while a biker sawed at my seatbelt with a knife. A woman in jeans and a t-shirt waited nervously behind him, and when the seatbelt was gone, she reached in with the biker to help pull me out. I couldn’t seem to focus on their faces, my attention skipping like a stone over details like her tied-back hair, or the biker’s skull-and-crossbones earring. And one of my best friends standing a few feet away, not making any move to help while I hung there trapped and in trouble.

I heard the crackle I’d been dreading from behind, and a sharp curse from one of my rescuers. Their efforts grew more frantic, and as the biker joined the tie-guy in jerking my door open, the girl and another man in a t-shirt reached in for my legs and shoulders. Things were already starting to swim around me, but when one of them pulled my bad arm, the light really dimmed. I think I screamed.

There was an ominous creak, and a dulled roar as the flames found the gasoline. I felt like I was being pulled in two, and my cries faded to a groan. The pain was becoming abstract, too much to process. And then with a lurch, my body came alive for one last moment as I finally slipped out of the car.

For that one moment, it hurt too much to scream, I just sucked in breath for a sob. And then the world washed away, and with it the pain and the fear. Everything but the ashen face of Ray, just a few inches from me. And the betrayed rage I felt at the sight of him.

And then even that was gone.

 

“…didn’t know. Could be a few hours or a day or two.”

“Ray can go home today. Maybe I should take him…”

The whispers faded in and out like a radio with bad reception.

“…tow it in. I’m not sure if anything is salvageable.”

“Thank God they didn’t have any proton packs in there.”

“Don’t even think about that, Peter.”

I was tired, my body a massive dull ache. Moving was inconceivable, and thinking a joke. Just lying there took all the energy I had.

“…Ray said. I believe you should talk to him.”

“Yeah, I kinda figured. Poor guy—this had to be terrible…”

Ray. My mind sharpened. Unfortunately. A lot came rushing back I would’ve been just as happy not to remember: the helpless feeling of the car rolling, being pinned and expecting to be roasted alive at any moment. And Ray, my friend Ray with whom I’d been talking and laughing a few minutes earlier, watching me and not doing a thing to help.

My mouth moved for a minute before anything even I could recognize as speech came out. “Not like…that.”

There was movement around me. Someone’s hand curled around mine—Egon’s, I could tell from the warmth. Peter was the hot-blooded one to Egon’s cool head, but Egon was always like a furnace while Peter’s hands were usually cold. Go figure. Freezing fingers gripped my other wrist more anxiously. That was Peter.

“Winston? You awake, buddy?”

I groaned.

The fingers on my wrist spasmed once, and I realized I was scaring my friends. I focused on expelling air from my tight chest. “’M here.”

“Thank God.” The fervent murmur was from our phlegmatic, agnostic Egon. For the first time since Ecto had gone out of control, though, I felt a seed of reassurance, like things might be okay again, after all.

Except…Ray.

I tried to open my eyes, but they weren’t working yet. Didn’t matter; I turned toward where I knew Peter would be. “Ray…”

“He’s doing okay, Winston. Sprained his shoulder and got a knock on the head, but he’s not even concussed. You got the worst of it, buddy, sorry.”

I sighed with frustration. “No. Ray…” And stopped. What did I want to say? He left me there to die? Just stood watching while I screamed to him for help? I would’ve shaken my head in despair if I’d had it in me. “He froze,” I finally whispered instead.

Again Peter’s fingers tightened on my wrist, and I felt even Egon stir. “Yeah, he told us, Zed,” Peter said gently. “He feels bad about it, too—he said he wished he’d been trapped in the car instead of you, but…Winston, his parents died in a car crash. Ray wasn’t there, but when he saw you pinned like that, well, it was kinda a flashback, you know? He lost it for a little bit. He’s beating himself up over it now, but he just couldn’t move. I don’t think he could until they got you out of the car.”

Flashback—it explained a lot. We Vietnam vets aren’t as messed up a group as the movies like to play us; I haven’t ever been tempted to pull a Rambo, and I never had any flashbacks or PTSD, thank God. But I knew a few who had, those who had stayed too long or gone through something particularly horrific or who had been a little less steady already going in. I knew how you lost your grip on reality in the middle of a flashback, how you sometimes did things you never would’ve done in your right mind. If Ray had had one, he might not have even realized I was about to fry in that car, might not have heard me calling him or seen me struggling to get out. It made sense, because my Ray would never have just stood by and left one of his friends in danger.

It made sense…but it also didn’t wipe away the memory of Ray standing there watching me die, or the claw of anger and betrayal in my stomach each time I thought about it. It still hurt. Frustrated, I rolled my head on the pillow, just a fraction in case it fell off like it was threatening to.

“I know.” That was Peter still, voice soothing. His professional voice, but he pulled it out whenever one of us needed it. “It scared you and it’s hard to forget Ray didn’t help you. You’re probably still feeling mad at him, right? That’s okay, Winston, that’s normal. Just try to remember, Ray got hurt in this, too. Besides that fun little trip he took through the worst experience of his life, he knows what he did to you, and he’s gonna have to live with that. Just…keep that in mind.”

I was having trouble keeping anything in mind. It was a struggle to remember who was in the room with me, or to make sense of what Peter was saying. I knew what he was talking about, though, and knew it made sense. But knowing and feeling are miles apart. Right now, it felt like I would be just as happy never to see Ray again.

Maybe my silence was my answer, or maybe Peter saw something in my face, because he sighed like he was discouraged. “Why don’t you get some rest, Winston?” he said gently, and like some sort of hypnotic suggestion, I immediately felt sleepiness wash over my tired body and brain. That was what I needed: rest. Everything would make sense later, even how I felt about Ray.

“Sleep well,” Egon said in that reassuringly solid voice. Even as I drifted, I could hear the timbre of it change. “Will you talk to Ray?”

“Yeah, I’m going now. It’s gonna be a lot harder on him if Winston doesn’t forgive him. What’re we supposed to do then, Egon?”

I didn’t hear Egon’s answer, too far gone at that point. But it struck me like a parting shot that Egon and Peter were feeling sorry for Ray. It didn’t matter that I’d nearly died that day, and was lying broken in that hospital bed, while Ray had stood by and done nothing. Ray was their oldest friend, and they were on his side. For the first in a long time, I was the odd man out again.

And that moment of loneliness before sleep claimed everything, hurt worse than any bodily pain I might have been suffering, because it had been inflicted by those I had called my friends.

 

I slept a lot after that. Sometimes I think I was almost awake, hearing the guys talking in hushed voices around me or feeling someone touching me. Other times the dreams were vivid and weird, and I knew I was asleep. In between were a lot of gray areas when I wasn’t sure where I was. Time passed meaninglessly, and uneasiness followed me everywhere.

And then I roused to antiseptic smells and the soft rustle of sheets and pages, one arm numb and the other clutching at the mattress, and I knew I was back.

Pages. I smiled drowsily. “Egon?”

There was the creak of something, maybe a chair, and long, thin fingers curled around my upper arm. “Winston. I’m glad you’re awake.”

Every breath meant a flinch of pain, and my head hurt. Waking up wasn’t all it was cracked up to be, but I wasn’t about to tell Egon that, not when he sounded so relieved. “Thanks,” was all I murmured. I shifted, trying to figure out where my arm was, but it wasn’t talking to me. Probably just as well; I didn’t want to hear what it had to say, not with the memory of that cracking bone. “What day’s it?”

“Tuesday. It’s been three days.”

Three days. Strange how it seemed longer than that. I tried to swallow, but I was dried out from the oxygen.

“Would you like some water?”           

“Please.”

Thank God for straws. I didn’t have to move my head an inch, and the water made all the difference. I no longer felt like I had to scrape out each word.

“Thanks,” I said softly as Egon sat back down, and I finally dredged enough strength up to crack my eyes open. White ceiling, white walls. Not much to look at. Not until the chair creaked again and Egon moved into view, easing down onto the edge of my bed so I could see him without turning my head. Three days had taken their toll on him, too. I bet I looked a lot worse, but Egon wouldn’t be winning any beauty pageants with the dark circles around his eyes and his pinched, pale look. Even his hair was drooping. There was real relief in his face, but I knew from experience he’d only start relaxing when we were up and around again.

Me and Ray.

I sighed, bone-weary, and let my eyes sag shut again. I didn’t particularly want to see Egon’s face when I asked my next question. “How’s Ray?”

I barely caught the hesitation. “He’s doing well. His arm will be in a sling for the rest of the week, but they released him Sunday. Peter’s home with him right now—we’ve been taking turns staying with you.”

I nodded, just once. My brain still felt a little too liquid for motion.

Another pause, then a cautious question. “Would you like to see Raymond? He’s been hoping to talk to you.”

Two images clashed in my head, one of talking and laughing with Ray in the car, the other of lying in helpless pain and panic and seeing Ray motionless nearby, completely unresponsive to my pleas and terror. The latter, sharp and horrible, crowded out the former easily, and my mouth tightened. “No.”

I heard Egon sigh, and remembered again his earlier conversation with Peter. They felt sorry for Ray, probably thinking I was being unreasonable. That still smarted, but not as much. I probably _was_ being unreasonable, I just felt too lousy to care much right then. “He is very sorry, Winston. He would never do anything to hurt you, you must know that.”

“That’s the problem, Egon,” I whispered. “He didn’t do anything.”

My arm was awkwardly patted. That’s Egon for you: he could hold you while you were throwing up, be matter-of-fact about any kind of intimate care you needed, but simple emotions still left him floundering most of the time. Of course, there wasn’t really anything simple about this, was there? I was the one feeling it and even I couldn’t understand it.

“’M tired,” I murmured, only partly playing up my fatigue as I hunched away from Egon.

He didn’t take offense. “Sleep,” Egon said immediately. “Peter or I will always be here. We can take you home soon.”

Home. Where Ray was. I didn’t know what to think of that or of whose side Egon and Peter would end up on, so I didn’t, just slid back to sleep. I would deal with all of it when I was stronger.

Somehow.

 

Homecoming wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.

Peter opened the car door as gently as he could, and I still groaned, feeling sick and dizzy. The pain medications had done more to turn my stomach than to dull the ache that had settled in my arm and head, especially after the movement and jarring of the car. My neck was already sore from the weight of the sling, my ribs complained every time my casted arm brushed against them, and my knee refused to bear my weight. I was ready for more painkillers, my bed, and some peace and quiet, in that order.

Arms reached in carefully to help me to my feet, and hating the weakness, I let them lever me up and steady me. Peter slid an arm around my waist and got a grip on the waistband of my jeans. I probably would have laughed at the sight we must’ve made if I’d thought my head could survive it. As it was, I just hung on to him with my good hand and let him take the lead.

“How you feelin’, Winston?”

Janine was looking me over worriedly from the sidelines. The guys had said she’d come to visit me a few times in the hospital, but I’d never been awake for it. I tried to smile at her and probably just scared the woman. “I’m better,” I said tightly, which was about as honest as I could get without lurid details like how my knee felt like a swollen water balloon, ready to pop, or how I could swear splintered bones were grinding together in my arm.  

Egon was hovering on my other side, waiting to help haul me up when we reached the stairs. So with everyone else accounted for, when I saw someone stir behind Janine, I knew immediately who it was. I froze, bringing Peter to a lurching halt with me, and stared at Ray as he met my eyes.

The boy could’ve been my twin in the “seen better days” department. His sling matched mine, and there was a dark bruise on his forehead and down the side of his face that probably had a headache to match. He held himself gingerly, other, invisible injuries obviously causing him pain, and his eyes…

I felt a twinge of sympathy. Ray, my friend Ray, had been through an emotional wringer. I could’ve been a total stranger and still seen that. His parents had died in a car wreck, and he’d just revisited that worst day of his life in Technicolor clarity, nearly losing a friend in the process, suffering a flashback and the residual trauma. As I looked at him, my anger softened, melting like wax in the sun at the realization of all he’d been through.

But the hurt, that wasn’t so easy to get rid of. Every time I closed my eyes, I could feel the clammy terror again of being trapped in the car, minutes from being burned alive, Ray passively watching. It was as hot a pain as any physical one, and no amount of sympathy could make me forget that.

I finally turned my head away, not wanting to see his distress, my hands already full with my own. I felt Peter’s reluctance to let the encounter go without remark, but finally he started moving again. It didn’t get any easier to breathe past the tightness in my chest even after we’d left Ray long behind.

I was barely with it, swimming in exhaustion and pain, by the time we reached the living room couch, my home for the next few days. I barely felt my shoes being pulled off, the blanket settled over me, and the pills that were pushed into my hand and coaxed down. I did feel a hand on my forehead, one that wasn’t particularly hot or cold, and wondered vaguely if it was Ray. Odd, but it didn’t seem to matter one way or another.

And then, mercifully, I slept.

           

Another hazy day or two went by before I started being interested in the world around me again, including entertainment and food. My favorite paperbacks were piled on the coffee table for when I felt clear-headed enough to read, and the History Channel hummed in the background, the remote nearby in case I got tired of World War II.

Peter, Egon, and Janine took turns showing up with a tray of food at regular intervals, and the conversation between us was mostly strained. I felt cared for, looked after…and guilty as sin even while I knew they weren’t blaming me and I was still hurting and not thinking clearly. Mostly, I just slept a lot, not only to get better but also to avoid interaction.

Ray I only saw in passing, as he hurried through the room on his way up or downstairs. I ignored him, and he didn’t say anything to me. I tried not to dwell on it.

Listlessly, I started getting better.

The call came in the morning, a Class Three that had been showing up at dinnertime in a local old folks home, scaring the residents. Could we come that evening for dinner? There wasn’t much debate despite our shorthandedness. Only a Three, scaring senior citizens? Peter and Egon tied a couple of proton packs onto the top of Peter’s sports car and went. Ecto had finally been towed in that morning, but it wasn’t going anywhere soon. Janine had left for the day and I’d been reassured Ray was in the basement lab if I needed anything, and so I waited until the fire hall got quiet, then hobbled downstairs one slow step at a time to visit an old friend.

I had fallen in love with Ecto not long after I’d first seen her. Okay, it had taken three days to get over the idea that we’d be driving around in a converted hearse, but once I did, all I saw were possibilities, and an old girl who was still in her prime. I’d taken care of her ever since, and she’d rarely let me down.

Even now, as I leaned heavily on the cane Egon had dug up for me and looked her over, the damage wasn’t as bad as I’d feared. For all my horror of being burned alive, the small fire that had started had been put out by a trucker with an extinguisher, and only the rear right panel showed signs of burning. The gas tank was cracked underneath, I knew, but that was fixable, too. The side doors were creased and scraped but remarkably intact. Even the interior compartment that I thought had been compromised to trap me was sound; the front seat had slid forward and jammed. Only the top was mashed down and mangled and bore real evidence of a rollover. In the end, she hadn’t let me down this time, either; any less solid of a car and I would have been crushed. Ray, too, probably.

Then I noticed it. The front fender wasn’t even dented. Strange.

I still didn’t know what had gone wrong, and I wanted to find out. Moving gingerly and bracing myself for every demand I placed on my abused body, I opened the hood.

It was such a common sight in our job, that when I finally found what I was looking for, I almost missed it. What was a little slime to a ghostbuster, anyway, in the fire hall, in our car? She was even _called_ Ecto. But when I spotted the layer of goo, two things finally set off the warning bells in my head. One: it was way down deep in the motor, not a place I could remember a ghost going in recent memory, nor was the slime that old. And two: it was red. Not Slimer green, but fire engine, apple red.

Red. That touched a memory.

I stared at the ectoplasm a long minute, then at the basement door, and finally decided to take the plunge. I couldn’t avoid Ray forever. Still, my steps were a little reluctant as I headed for the basement door, slowing as I got closer. Ray hadn’t helped me last time—could I even count on him? I squelched the traitorous voice, knowing better, but it just moved down from my head into my heart and kept whispering there.

Before I could listen to it or change my mind, I jerked open the door. “Ray?”

Something fell heavily downstairs, but before I could do more than raise an eyebrow, footsteps rushed up the stairs and Ray appeared, disheveled and tired and looking so worried and hopeful that I almost felt bad for him. “Winston! Are you okay?”

I grimaced, definitely feeling bad then as I realized I’d probably just scared him. After all, why else would I be talking to him if I weren’t in dire straits, right? The hope in his eyes was why I’d been avoiding him all this time, and I was reminded again how much I cared about this guy normally. When I wasn’t remembering how he’d stood by and almost let me die. At some point, I’d have to deal with this, with what happened and what it meant for us and the future, but not yet. I wasn’t ready yet. “I’m fine, Ray,” I said tersely, more mad at me than him, and kicked myself again when he flinched at the tone. I tried to mellow it. “I wanna show you something.”

Ray put on what he thought was his poker face, which was about as successful as a kid trying to hide his excitement on Christmas Eve, but I did us both the favor of pretending I didn’t notice. I just turned and limped back to Ecto, hearing his steps behind me. He walked firmly, the sling gone now, the bruise on his face an almost faded yellow. I didn’t fool myself thinking he’d healed any more than I had.

I stepped around the front of Ecto, waited until he’d joined me, then pointed. “Take a look at that.”

Ray leaned in obediently. I knew when he’d seen the slime when he suddenly dipped forward even more, then reached out to rub a finger over the stuff. “Ectoplasm?” he said, surprised.

“Yeah. Hasn’t been there more than a week or two, either. Ray, you remember something in front of the car, right before we crashed?”

He screwed his face up, thinking back. “No, honestly. I thought maybe you hit a slick spot on the road or something.”

“No,” I shook my head. “It was like Ecto just went crazy. At first I thought I’d hit something, but there’s nothing on the grill or fender, and now that I think about it, I seem to remember seeing something red flash by before everything went south.”

Ray frowned at the flakes of dried slime on his finger. “You think it was a ghost?”

“Maybe. Cars don’t usually just turn over on their own.”

He thought for a moment, hard, then said, “Wait a second,” and went over to the lockers along the wall. Out of Egon’s, he took a PKE meter—Egon always had a PKE meter—and flipped it on as he came back to Ecto. The meter barely stirred when it was aimed at the slime, only the faintest residuals still present, but Ray recorded the reading and backed out from under the hood. “Maybe Egon will—”

As the meter cleared Ecto, it went off in earnest, the needle rising to indicate a Class Five. With the same signature as the slime inside the engine.

Instantly on alert, I swiveled around as fast as I could on a bad knee and bruised ribs, trying to find our intruder. Ray swung the meter in an arc, pinpointing the source of the readings. The meter definitely reacted most strongly toward Janine’s desk.

“Ray, get the packs,” I said tightly. He was already moving.

Too late. We should have gotten them the second the meter went off, I realized, as a red shape rose and coalesced from behind Janine’s desk. A big red shape, with white, sharp teeth.

“Ray,” I muttered under my breath. He took another step toward the lockers.

“Do not move!”

It had a mouth, the one with all those nice teeth, but it didn’t form words. The voice seemed to rise up out of the thing, and believe me, it was effective. I felt my heart speed up a couple of notches, and sensed Ray slide a step closer toward the packs despite the warning.

Which left me as the distraction. I straightened, blocking out my aching body, and stared hard at the red gooper. “Who are you?”

“It does not matter. Only your death will matter.”

“You made us crash,” I said flatly.

“It was not difficult. Your vehicles are not complex. It was unfortunate you did not die with it.”

Okay, two points of interest here. One, ghosts don’t usually talk to us besides the usual “nyah, nyah” level of playground taunts. Definitely not smart like this. And two, most ghosts wanted to hurt us, make us mad, make us go away, but they didn’t usually understand the concept of killing and death, let alone a serious vendetta against us. Even if the stuff between me and Ray had been coincidental, that was still a dangerously malicious ghost. But for all its smarts, Class Fives simply weren’t able to plan elaborate means of revenge. I couldn’t remember the last time we’d come across any entity smart and devoted enough to do something as complex as sabotaging Ecto so we would crash.

A shiver ran down my back. Actually, come to think of it, I could.

“You didn’t come on your own.” Ray had apparently been on the same track. “Who sent you?” All the timidity and uncertainty of before was gone. This Ray was mad and knew his stuff; he’d probably figured out the answer to his question before I had.

“Chikar, _”_ our uninvited guest answered, then hissed. I’m guessing it hadn’t planned to reveal that little tidbit, but Ray had that affect on people—er, things.

Not like it made a difference; I already knew who was pulling the strings. We’d never met Chikar, but the Netherworld entity had had it in for us for a long time now, sending some smart ghosts after us every few months in an attempt to kill us, always through some physical means instead of supernatural. Usually some way that messed with our heads, too—he was that good. It was becoming his trademark, and I should have figured it out sooner. This was the third time he’d almost succeeded, and I was starting to get a little mad.

“Tell your boss to come get us himself if he wants us so bad, and quit sending amateurs to do his dirty work,” I said darkly.

Big Red hissed again, this time threateningly. I sensed Ray move another step closer to the lockers.

And then it was too late.

It swooped toward me, though, not Ray, and I knew even as I dropped my cane and followed it to the ground that this was our chance. If I could keep it distracted long enough, Ray could reach the lockers and arm himself. I just had to stay alive until then. And considering I wasn’t exactly a fast-moving target, that wouldn’t be easy.

Teeth flashed. Up close they were even scarier. I ducked, pulling my head in and throwing my good arm over it.

And then something tackled me unexpectedly from the side.

I hadn’t prepared for an attack from that flank and, unbalanced, I fell over, rolling just in time to keep from landing on my cast. The weight didn’t so much crash into me as settle over my body like some sort of protective blanket.

Like Ray covering me with his own body.

“Ray!” I yelped, my protest muffled under him. I felt a jolt go through his body, and prayed it wasn’t Big Red striking, but then Ray was scooting off me.

“Get under Ecto.” He pushed me toward the fender, which had just enough room underneath for one tucked-in body.

I obeyed. There was a time for arguing an order you didn’t agree with, but this wasn’t it, not with me impaired or that tone of voice from Ray. I’d rarely heard him sound so determined. I pulled myself as far under Ecto as I could, the back of my head and soles of my feet pressed against the front tires. There was no meaningful moment of silent communication like you see in all those movies, just Ray’s retreating feet, heading for the lockers again.

There came a hiss from above the car. That was when I realized there was blood on the ground inches from my nose.

I hadn’t felt so helpless since…well, since the accident. Only, this time, Ray was risking everything to save me.

I’d been mad before, but now I was really furious.

“That all you got, that hiss and them big teeth!” I yelled from beneath Ecto. True, it was a position of weakness, but at this point my battered body wasn’t about to go anywhere again soon, and you played the hand you were dealt. As the hiss came to a startled stop, I continued angrily at the undercarriage, “Yeah, I’m talking to you, Big Ugly! You don’t like it, you can just come get me.”

A red wisp trailed down into my line of sight, followed by what I’d be generous in calling a head. But the eyes were malicious, the teeth just as sharp, and when they curled into a smile, I gulped. How long did it take Ray to get a pack, anyway?

But the ghost really was smart. It knew it had me cornered and ready to pick off at any time, and who the real threat was. With that malicious hiss, it rose again, and flew at Ray.

I yelled something at it, desperation making my voice break as I saw that red tail fly toward Ray’s legs, but Big Red wasn’t falling for that again. Even as I pounded the concrete floor, my voice already going hoarse, I knew there was nothing I could do about it. I hadn’t even heard the pack power up yet.

Which was why the sudden sizzle of a proton beam made me start.

Another joined it a moment later. And even as I finally started breathing again, realizing what was going on, I heard Peter’s voice in the distance, mocking and livid. Big Red had committed the cardinal sin of going after his friends, and there was no quicker way to get on Peter’s bad side.

He called something to Egon, who answered in low, tight tones—Egon didn’t get as spectacularly enraged, but he could be just as dangerous as Peter when you crossed him or his loved ones—and then I heard a trap hit the ground. I could only see the residual glow from where I lay, but Big Red’s wail painted me a nice picture of him going down, hard. The trap snapped shut with a satisfying _snick_ after him.

I dropped my head back to the floor and concentrated on taking in air without it hurting too much.

Running footsteps. “Winston?” Peter called, sounding anxious now, even as Egon said a quieter, “Ray.”

“Here,” I groaned, and managed to reach out and give a half-wave.

Boots and emerald green cuffs rushed into view, and then Peter was getting down on all fours to peer under the car. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” I moved limbs gingerly, feeling new bruises. I sighed. “Sorta.”

He smiled, a little pained. “What is it with you and this car?” Peter was already gently tugging me out, and I let him do all the moving. I’d moved plenty by now, thank you very much.

“Really,” I tiredly agreed as I was unfolded. “Ray shoved me under when the gooper started strafing us. Is he okay? There’s blood…” Peter had sat down behind me, playing back-support, and I could finally see Ray and Egon. Ray was sitting hunched on the bench, Egon standing beside him and poking at his shoulder.

At my question, Ray looked up and lifted a hand. “I’m okay.”

“Egon?” Peter asked from behind me.

“It looks like the ghost, er, bit him. The punctures are fairly deep—I believe they should be disinfected and stitched.”

“Yeah, who knows where that mouth’s been,” Peter said, shuddering behind me.

My eyes were starting to close when Ray asked, “How’s Winston?”

I jerked awake again. “Okay. Sore. But in one piece still, thanks to you.”

Ray brightened as if I’d just offered him his fondest wish.

I saw Egon look a question at Peter and felt Pete nodding behind me. I hope that meant they weren’t hauling me to the hospital, too, because all I wanted to do was go back to my comfy couch and sleep and forget this afternoon ever happened.

All except for one part. “Hey, Ray,” I called, my raw voice barely reaching.

“Yeah.”

I grinned at him, forgiveness and apology. “Thanks.”

The guy was gonna break his jaw, smiling like that. Peter’s hand clasped my shoulder, and Egon stopped treating Ray’s shoulder long enough to give me a warm look.

I really loved being a Ghostbuster sometimes.

 

It was the next morning before we reconvened around the kitchen table. I had slept long and deep in the meantime, and Ray had come home from the hospital with a bandage on his shoulder and some stiffness but little else to show for our adventure the afternoon before. Well, except for the fact that I was sitting next to him and there wasn’t any place I’d rather have been.

“‘We few, we happy few, we band of brothers,’” Peter began, mischievous and wistful at once.

“Shakespeare, Peter? And in the morning, no less?” Egon asked with raised eyebrow.

“What, you think the brilliant Dr. Venkman doesn’t know Shakespeare?” He was layering on the wounded act so thick, you couldn’t’ve cut it with a knife.

“I believe that’s an oxymoron.”

“Hey, who’re you calling a moron?”

“I rest my case.”

Ray threw me a grin at the exchange, and I grinned back. Nothing said we were getting back to normal like one of Egon and Peter’s “arguments.” I cut in quickly before Peter could come up with a suitably biting comeback. “Hey, guys? We’re here to talk about Chikar, remember?”

Well, that dampened the mood fast. Peter’s eyes went dark, and the teasing left Egon’s face. Next to me, Ray went still.

“You gotta love an entity that’s smart enough to know a couple of Class Fives won’t beat us their way, so it comes after us on our own turf. He knows we’re not used to fighting on those terms.” Peter didn’t move, his tone flat and hard.

“Yeah, well, we’d better get used to it,” I answered. “Somehow, I don’t think he’s done.”

“It _has_ become increasingly apparent that Chikar will not stop this…vendetta against us until he has won,” Egon finally said.

“Or we trash him first,” Peter added fiercely.

“But how’re we gonna do that?” Ray asked. “We still have no idea where to find him in the Netherworld, and it’s not like we can just go randomly searching. It’s too big.”

“Well, we gotta think of something,” I said. “Playing defense sucks—all it takes is one time for him to get lucky.” Ray had nearly gotten blown up the last time, and the time before that, Peter had come close to dying in a building collapse. I didn’t want to give Chikar another chance to get it right.

“The messing with our heads got real old, real fast, too,” Peter muttered.

“I agree,” Egon said. “We must become proactive. I have already begun studying the readings of the three entities Chikar has sent after us so far to determine any similarities I can possibly use to locate him. It.”

“That’s good, Egon, stay on that, but we’re gonna need to do more. How about we play his own game to get back at him?”

“How, Peter?” Ray asked.

“Simple. He sends ghosts after us, we do the same. We start offering any Netherworld gooper we trap a chance to go back home if they play spy for us.”

“Like turning a snitch,” I said thoughtfully.

“Exactly.”

I nodded. “Might just work.”

“I was thinking I might start doing some more research on Chikar,” Ray said. “Maybe he has some enemies who might help us, or some weaknesses we can use against him.”

“That’s good, Ray,” Peter said. “Let me know if I can help with that, huh?”

“Yeah, me, too,” I chimed in.

“We are not gonna let this beasty boy and his flunkies get to us again,” Peter vowed.

We all nodded. I knew it was bravado, nor was I the kind who usually sought out trouble, but I was tired of seeing my friends hurt. And at that moment, sitting there now with the guys, it felt like we could handle anything.

“So,” Peter brightened again. “We got a game plan then?” Another round of nods. “Okay, let’s get to it, but Winston, you’re going back on the couch for a few more days first, and Ray, I want you taking it easy. _Small_ books.”

Ray snorted a soft laugh. “Okay, Peter.”

They started to rise. I set my coffee mug down sharply. “I’ve still got something to say.”

The guys glanced at me, then at each other, but they all sat back down, their expressions different shades of curiosity and concern.

I cleared my throat, looked down at the table. “I just wanted to thank you all for the help and the patience since the crash.” I’d stopped calling it an accident once it had become clear just how deliberate it was. “I know I didn’t always have my head screwed on right, but I want you guys to know, you’re family, and even when I let myself get in the way of that sometimes, that doesn’t change what I feel, what I _know_.” I met Ray’s shining eyes straight-on. “I’m sorry, Ray.”

There was no aw-shucks in his reaction, nothing but an equally sober but heartfelt, “It’s okay, Winston. I’m sorry, too.”

“Yeah, well, if you’re ever up for talking about it, I think I’m ready now.”

He smiled, sad and happy, and nodded.

I took a deep breath, and gave the guys a shaky smile. I’d said my piece; it was time to move on.

Chikar had made us grow up a little over those last two years, Egon and Peter hashing out some stuff earlier, now me and Ray. I’d rather we’d done it on our terms than his, but at least some good had come out of the bad. Now I just wanted to stop the demon before he broke something permanently in us.

But looking around the table, at Ray’s hand that had ended up on my forearm, at Peter’s fiercely protective gaze moving between us, and Egon’s quiet approval and satisfaction, I realized that wouldn’t be such an easy thing. We were a lot more than just the sum of our parts, and Chikar had tried three times already to mess with that and failed. He had his work cut out for him.

And all I had to say to that was, bring it on.

 The End


End file.
